


To sleep

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Series: To Wander [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Gen, Healing, Imagery, Injury, Knife injury, Legends, Mentions of Death, OC, Rain, Sona, anthropomorphic creatures, do not repost to another site, gotta guess tho i ain’t tellin, legends relating to death, no beta we die like men, painful healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: ” They gaze with wide eyes, round and unblinking as the rain falls upon them. Marbles of void, pits of night.“Sometimes injuries are avoidable. Sometimes they attract things you may not want.
Series: To Wander [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725868
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	To sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno I saw this pic of an animal on Instagram and I’m like, Ander should meet them. Then I went with this weird allusion thing.
> 
> The building could be an abandoned church but since I don’t like churches (I’m religious but we don’t meet in a “church”) I’m leaving it ambiguous. I definitely imagine an older stone building with high, high up windows sort of thing.
> 
> Feel free to guess the animal; I’ll put it in the bottom A/N!

They gaze with wide eyes, round and unblinking as the rain falls upon them. Marbles of void, pits of night.

Ander blinks away the rain - not much help, what with the dark clouds and their own blurring vision. There are three, in dark burgundy robes, and they wonder, not for the first time, if this is the taste of the path of death.

(Will they lead, a last leg of the journey, as the mind stills and the body falls behind, left to rot? Take will, mind, self, and plunge it into nothingness?)

But the lead one - _Arfroaj’aroak_ , if memory serves and legend does not fail - leans down and holds out a hand. It’s dark, sage green with a slimness to the fingers. They think they could snap them if they’re careless.

But he (the leader of such is always a male), merely leans further, the sticky, bulbous finger tips feeling past slick rain-run blood for their fluttering pulse.

He sighs, throat fluttering outward at the gesture. “My friends, please help me carry them. They will live.”

The Wanderer doesn’t react besides a groan as their body is lifted. They are too tired to speak, too fatigued to ask or explain. Arfroaj’aroak leads to the abandoned building, dark and decayed with age. Perhaps it was once testament to the graveyard outside, overgrown and rotted away a thousand times over. Perhaps it was later, or before, with no connection.

Either way, it is empty, and despite being decrepit, it is dry.

They set them down, and the lead one blinks; one eye, then the other. A slow, steady affair. It seems sticky to their own eyes, but they won’t say a word.

“Friend,” this to them, surprisingly, or perhaps not, “I will not lie - this will hurt.”

It is known that - in hushed whispers, the _Rana_ are mentioned - that the Rana are a hidden kind. They do not believe it is valuable to use pain killers whilst operating, so that the one being healed may cry out if there is another matter.   
  
It is also known that rarely do they help at all, feeling that nature should run its course.

The thoughts and feelings towards Rana are one of high intrigue, curiosity, and faint fear. They are not worshipped, nor despised, but instead viewed as old ones, an ancient people, with strange knowledge that usually is more advanced than others.

Of course, The Wanderer felt none of this as they screamed, the deep knife wounds being cauterized with heated metal.   
  
Three holes; deep, gouging. Left side just under the ribs and following down in a curve. It wasn’t the first time Ander had been injured, but it was much worse than other times. They teetered on consciousness, unable to distinguish the Rama’s creaking, croaking words.

Rain drummed on, outside.

Finally, _finally_ , Ander was given a draught of something. It lulled them into darkness that too felt like death.

“Wanderer, Wanderer,” the croaking was more like a ringing song, “we will find you no more. Sleep, child.”

The last words as they fell into the dark, heavy, were but a whisper of dust taken by wind.

“Until, the end.”

When they next woke they were in the building, alone. Faint, gray light shone through the battered glass, high in the walls above, and they could tell the rain had lightened up.

Their fingers felt along the taut, burned scars, and they glanced around. But no sign of their rescuers-

Save, a little carved caricature of a feral Rana, tailless and slick as the rain, with eyes like marbles of shadow. It was stuck on a chain, looped on a button of their coat.

“Thank you,” Ander whispered.   
  
The only answer, the light rainfall outside.

**Author's Note:**

> They’re frogs!!!! Nothing specific. I did look up the scientific genus for frog which was Rana (family, Ranidae if I read it right.)


End file.
